


A Handful of Sky

by avienexjel



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:06:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avienexjel/pseuds/avienexjel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard's father ignored him.</p><p>Aidan's father was a full-out drunk, smoker, and drug-addict. </p><p>Dean's father was dirty and abused him. </p><p>Lee's father was selfish and always expected too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Handful of Sky

CHAPTER 1. 

He's sitting in the only comfortable chair he has, fingers itching for the cigarettes hidden in his pocket, when he hears the worst suggestion he's ever heard in his entire life: "Let's go out to a club tonight, Rich."

"Richard," he corrects automatically, letting loose a heavy, tired sigh. "I don't like clubs, James, you know that."

"Exactly why I'm taking you to one tonight," James says cheerfully.  Glancing at Richard and evidently not seeing the expression wanted, he takes a long suck on his pipe.  "Come on, Rich; it'll be fun.  You're too uptight anyway.  You just need to let loose,  _relax_ for once."  James raises his eyebrows. "Tell me, Richard, when was the last time you got out of your house?"

Richard runs a hand through his hair before realizing that he's just messing the gel up.  "Yesterday," he offers lamely, knowing deep in the back of his mind that that's not what James means. "The dinner with that interviewee..."

James tsks.  "The last time you got out of the house and you weren't  _forced_ to, which does _not_ include the nearby store you always go to,  _or_ that newspaper place."

Richard can't even remember.  Three months?  Four months, minimum?  He winces.  Yeah, he must sound pretty awful right now.

Raising his eyebrows, James stands up, slipping his pipe from his lips. "I'll pick you up at eight," he says.  At the door, he pauses suddenly, looking back.  "Oh yeah, and," he says, staring straight into Richard's eyes, "Wear something nice but make sure it's something you don't mind rumpled or wet."

Richard freezes as the door clicks smoothly shut. 

 

_-_ 

 

"Hey Jed," Aidan says, grinning widely. "Remember, there's a party tonight.  Club downtown.  The Copses, I think it's called?  More like the Drunk Corpses.  You coming with me or will I have to drag you along?"

Jed snorts. "What do you take me for?  Of course I'm coming.  At any rate, it'll be  _you_ I have to drag along."  He chuckles.  "And don't forget the time when I had to  _carry_ you home because you finally passed out from too much alcohol...."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Aidan grumbles, putting his hands up, palms out, in surrender. "So I had a little bit too much to drink.  That was once."

"Or the time where you were so drunk that I caught you sticking your tongue down Will's throat?" Jed smirks broadly. "Admittedly, though, Kircher was just as drunk, if not more.  I'm not even sure he remembers that."

Aidan winces as he's reminded of the fuzzy horror he'd felt when Jed walked in to find his two best friends locking lips on his living room couch.  With their eyes glazed over and Will's shirt off, and Aidan's nearly completely unbuttoned.  

"Sorry," he mumbles as soon as he unsticks his tongue from his throat. "So...I have a drinking problem at parties." 

"S'okay," Jed grins, waving it off. "And yes; yes, you do."

 

_-_ 

 

Dean O'Gorman's hair's a mess, his clothes are in a heap on the floor next to the bed, and his eyes are dull from alcohol.  Swallowing a pill, he screws the pill bottle's cap back on and sits it on his dresser, where several bottles, most of them finished off, are placed haphazardly.  Groaning like he's a dying man--which he probably is--he flops back down onto the sheets and sweaty pillows, examining the narrow scar on his stomach as if he's checking to make sure it hasn't gone and disappeared on him while he was dreaming in nightmares.

One last sigh and, ignoring his pounding hangover, drags himself to the shower, naked for the whole world to see the wounds turned to scars, inflicted in his past.

 

_-_

 

Lee's in front of the mirror, frowning in concentration as he straightens his tie and cuffs.  Adjusting his collar one more time--no, perhaps he needs to straighten it again--he smooths his hands down his shirt, wiping sweaty palms on his slacks.   _Breathe, Lee._ He pats his carefully slicked hair down, brown eyes staring into brown.  He lets his hands dangle at his sides.  Studying his mirror self, he realizes that the man reflected back at him is confident, suave, and determined.  Inside, he feels like a wreck.

Looking closer, he sees that his reflection doesn't look as perfect as he thought.  Dark circles under the eyes, face a tad too pale, lips colorless and dry, soon to bleed through the multiple white cracks.

Like his father said: "Be the best and first, Lee, and then I'll be proud of you."  To earn respect and acknowledgment, to have a life worthy of others' attention, one must be best and perfect.

His father had only ever been proud of him once, just once.  

 

* * *

 

The club is loud and wild, and James is having the time of his life.  At least, that's what it looks like from Richard's place at the bar, seeing that more than one curvy female is surrounding his friend.  Dragging a hand through his hair, he sips from his wine--his first glass--and turns away from James, not wanting to be caught watching like some kind of lonely creep.  Well, he supposes that he could be considered lonely by others.  But not a creep.  Definitely not a creep.  

He catches sight of a handsome blonde man stepping up to the bar and, as he watches, slides smoothly onto a stool.  The blonde orders a bottle of beer, a Budweiser Light, not expensive at all, and Richard notices that the man has a very nice voice, with an accent he can't quite place.  

Richard shakes his head.  What is he thinking?  He's not...okay, so he is gay.  But he knows from experience--or James' experiences, being bisexual--that it's hard to find a same-gender match.  Besides, the blonde is probably straight.  And it's not like Richard will ever see him again, anyway.  

Turning back to his drink, he drains the rest of the glass and slips off his stool, quickly making his way towards a corner in the club.  Some place where he can hide.  Too bad that James knows immediately where Richard will be.  "Richard," James slurs, eyes glazed.  He's grinning.  "You can hail a taxi or s'thing, right?  I got a sex magnet attached to my arm right now, and he's gay, even better.  Let's not put his talent to waste, yeah?"

The curly haired brunette with his hand around James's waist gives a bright grin.  "Aidan Turner," he says, voice no less slurred than James'.  

"I, ah, Richard.  Armitage," Richard says awkwardly.  He really doesn't mind not knowing about James' planned nightly exploits.

"Well Rich, I'm taking 'im home to my place so I'll see you maybe sometime this week," James drawls. "Let's get on with it, Turner."  The two men disappear into the crowd of wild, dancing bodies, still clutching onto each other as if their lives depended on it.  

Richard sighs--he's been sighing a lot today--and turns away, just to knock into someone.  Stumbling into the wall, he rights himself, feeling heat creeping up his neck and cheeks.  "Sorry," he says, right when he realizes it's the blonde again, except definitely more drunk than before.  

"No, it was m'fault, not yours," the blonde says, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, I'm more than a little drunk, a bit wobbly--"

"Dean!"  The sexiest brunette that Richard has ever seen, gay or not, appears like a bright light out of the crowd. "You disappeared on me!"

"I'm sorry, darling," the blonde-- _Dean,_ Richard reminds himself--says loudly to make himself heard over the booming music and people. "Got a little caught up."  Throwing the barest of glances to Richard, he says, "Well, nice to meet you, mate.  I've got to go now though.  Maybe I'll see you at another club sometime."  Dean turns to leave, the tall brunette already at his side. 

"Wait," Richard hears himself say. "My name's Richard."  But he's waited too long, because by then, Dean's already long gone, lost to the crowd.

 

_-_ 

 

Lee has a blind date to get to.  From what Orlando's told him--Orlando Bloom, his somewhat eccentric kind-of friend--the girl is smart, Hot with a capital H, a huge flirt, and very enthusiastic.  Well, that bodes well for him, considering he's not like that at all.  Why did he agree to this again?

And he's gay, not even just bisexual.  He had been planning to tell Orlando, but...well...

He looks up at the restaurant's name: Sushi Gen.  The girl had been the one to choose the restaurant, but Lee fully expects that he'll be the one to pay.  He's never been here before, but he must admit that he's always loved sashimi, or just Japanese food in general.  

If he can't impress his father, then he can at least impress his date.  Not that it'll ever make up for the countless times he's been called useless or shameful or disgusting.  That's something between him and his father's spirit, not Lauren or Laurel or whatever his date's name is called.  

He checks his thin gold watch; it was once his father's, but he tries not to dwell on that at all.  The hands say that it's 6:30, the exact time Orlando had set for them.  He opens the door slowly, stepping in to a babble of many people talking, words overlapping and rushing around the room.  The restaurant's bright and busy, stuffed to the brim with people, oh so many people. 

And they hadn't even booked a table.

"A table for two," Lee says to the bored-looking host, praying to God that Laurel-or-somebody hasn't already gotten a table.  Even worse, _waiting_  for him.  

"Where is your other person?" the man says, his accent thick.  He raises his eyebrows.  

"She's not here yet."  Lee keeps his voice calm but confident.

"Then we will not be able to seat you," the man says back, clearly annoyed. "You will have to wait."

"But there's an empty table right there," Lee says, inclining his head towards the table in the center of the room. "And nobody else is waiting." 

"We will not be able to seat you," the man repeats.

Lee strains to keep his temper under control.  He's always been quick to judge, and also quick to snap.  "There's nobody  _here,"_ he argues, "Except for  _me."_

Suddenly, he feels a cool breeze against his back as the door to the restaurant opens and a family of four steps in, looking like the stereotypical model family: a tall, young, dark-haired father, a blonde mother, and two little angelic-looking, golden-haired children.  The host immediately puts on a brilliant smile.  "Right this way," he says, leading them to the table that Lee had just been aiming at a few seconds ago.  As the host steps around him to take the family to their seats, Lee narrows his eyes.  He can't take it.  He  _won't._

He dials Orlando's number as fast as he can.  "Sushi Gen sucks," he snaps, "And Laurel isn't even here yet." 

"Laurel?" Orlando says, his voice crackling into Lee's ear. "Who's Laur--oh.  You mean Evangeline, not Laurel.  Evangeline Lilly." 

Lee cringes.  God, to have imagined himself calling L-- _Evangeline--_ Laurel in front of her,  _to_ her, would have made him want to kill himself.  

"Do you think we could meet at a different restaurant?" Lee says, throwing a glare to the host, who glowers right back. "I'm sure the food is good, but the people here are awfully rude."

"Really?"  Orlando sounds surprised.  "When I was there, they were all really nice to me and Casey."  Casey Cruseau had been Orlando's girlfriend, but only for two weeks or so.  

"Yeah, well, the host is terrible," Lee sighs. "Do you--"  

"Lee Pace?"  A sexy brunette is standing behind him, large chestnut-mahogany eyes looking at him expectantly.

"I--yes, I am.  And you are Evangeline, I presume," Lee replies smoothly, giving the woman a little lift of the corners of his mouth. "It's a pleasure." 

"The pleasure's all mine," Evangeline says back without any hesitation. "And yes, I am Evangeline.  How did you know."  The last sentence is a statement, not a question, and tinged with some sarcasm.  She gives a bright laugh then, low and musical.  

"A table for two now," Lee says testily to the host, giving a sharp warning glance that he hopes Evangeline doesn't catch to the man.  An even deeper frown settles slowly over the host's face, and he leads them to a table to the far right of the restaurant, where a young couple has recently left.  Scowling, the man throws a hand out, motioning for them to sit down, and makes his sullen way back to his stand.  

"So, Lee."  Evangeline settles onto her seat gracefully. "Are you single?  I presume you are, but it never hurts to clarify."

"Currently."  Lee purses his lips.

"How did you meet Orlando?"

"At a party."  He doesn't bother to elaborate. 

"You aren't a smoker, are you?   I dislike smokers and their nasty cigarettes.  It's a miracle how they can stand all that smoke."  Here Evangeline makes a face.  "It could give you lung cancer, you know.  You wouldn't look handsome as you are now with cancer."

Lee narrows his eyes.  "My mother passed away from cancer," he says, tone sharp.

"Pity."  Evangeline leans forward, so far forward that her breasts grace the tabletop and her lips are just three inches away from Lee's.  

"So tell me, Lee, what do you do for a living?"

"Sales."  Lee stills his fidgeting.

"Oh?  What kind of sales?"  Evangeline smiles sweetly. 

"How about we order first and then we can talk," Lee says.  Gods, this woman is making him feel uncomfortable.

"Of course."  Evangeline licks her lips and flips open her menu.

Very consciously picking up his menu, he combs through the options--there aren't very many--and decides on sashimi.  

"What are you having?"  Lee looks up from his phone.  "Sashimi," he says.

"Oh, me too!"  Evangeline's bloodred smile looks almost predatory.  "We have the same taste, Lee."  Lee swallows.  

"Yes, it appears that we do."  

A woman comes, a friendly openness on her face, to the table carrying glasses of water and miso soup.  Lee accepts the water and bowls of soup gratefully, and at least eating will distract Evangeline from continuing her onslaught of questions.  

However, Lee should know by now that he is not that lucky.   

"So, Lee, how old are you?"  

 _Why--_ "Ah...."  Lee stumbles through his words.  "I'm twenty nine."

"I like my men older," Evangeline purrs. "I'm twenty three."

"That's not that old," Lee points out. 

"It is when you're as young as me," the brunette replies. "No one's young forever...although I'd probably look like I haven't aged a day."  She laughs again, and it's a beautiful laugh, no doubt about it, but it's grating on Lee's already frayed nerves.

Lee gives a strained smile.  "You're very blunt, aren't you."

"I prefer to think that I'm simply someone who gets to the point," Evangeline says smoothly. "After all, life's too short for hesitance and politeness."

"I'm afraid I don't agree," Lee says, a little irritated now. 

"So we have different opinions."  Evangeline shrugs, managing to make even this little movement look graceful.  "I prefer a man who thinks the same way I do, but you can't have everything."  She stares deep into Lee's eyes, but not passionately.  More like...she's searching for something.  As some say--eyes are the windows to the soul.

"Yes, we do."  Lee steels himself.  He can't stay here anymore, they obviously hate each other, everything is just....  "It hasn't been very pleasant meeting you."  He rushes through his words like an Olympic sprinter, everything blurring into each other.  "You obviously dislike me.  Well, luckily, it's a mutual feeling.  So"--here, he flips open his wallet and takes out a crumpled hundred dollar bill--"I can't take this, so get yourself something delicious.  Bye, Ms. Lilly."  Without looking back, he turns and gets the hell out of there.

In the cool night air, not-quite-clean but still feeling fresh like how you feel when the wind combs through your hair and brushes your face, Lee takes a deep breath.  He'd taken his car to the restaurant, a slightly battered but mostly new-looking Lexus, sleek and black but with a scratch on the hood.  Getting in, he backs out and drives down the street, wondering how in fuck is he going to tell Orlando about ditching his date.  

Flicking his eyes to the left side of the road, he just misses the two men on the right--one with a head full of dark curls and shining eyes--stumbling down the sidewalk, laughing a bright, carefree laugh that doesn't penetrate the car windows.

 

 


End file.
